


Swish

by Angel_Wings14



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Boys Kissing, Boys in Skirts, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Gay Panic, M/M, Simon is a himbo, panics in gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Wings14/pseuds/Angel_Wings14
Summary: Simon wants Baz to know that wearing skirts is ok. But actions speak louder than words right?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	Swish

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a little teensy weensy obsession with boys in skirts recently. It's my favourite aesthetic, right up there with women in waistcoats. So... you're welcome I guess :p

_Simon_

“Penny I need to ask a favour,” I pant, having run up to where my best friend is sitting in the back of the library. She turns to me, eyebrows quirked in a question.

I take a breath. “I need to borrow one of your school skirts.”  
To Penny’s credit, she barely blinks.

“Why?” she asks.

“Uhhhhh,” I stall. I don’t want her to judge me, but I know I need to be honest if I’m going to get her help. “So you know how I, well because Baz is always plotting so I… well I kinda look through his stuff, and he was just out at football so I was in his wardrobe…”

Penny’s eyes are closed and she’s slowly shaking her head back and forth. And I know how it sounds. It sounds really bad. Because it is bad. But it’s a necessary evil. One evil to stop another. Right?

“Anyway,” I continue. “As I was in his wardrobe I found, well, I found some skirts.”

That catches Penny’s attention. She had briefly taken her glasses off to rub at her eyes, but she put them back on.

“What does this have to do with _my_ school skirts, Simon?” she sighs.

“See that’s the thing!” I exclaim, only to be shushed by the librarian one stack over. “I’ve never seen him wear them, and I think he might be worried what people might think, or he’s embarrassed or something.”

Penny isn’t getting it.

“I don’t get it,” she says. I sigh.

“If I wear a skirt to lessons tomorrow then he’ll see that it’s ok,” I explain slowly, as if I’m talking to a toddler. (It’s a move usually reserved by Baz when talking to me about Greek.)

“And you want to do this for Baz…why?”

“Well…” Actually, that’s a good point. Why am I doing this for Baz? But it’s not just Baz is it? I’m sure there are other boys at school wanting the freedom a skirt provides. It just doesn’t seem fair that the girls get to wear trousers, but the boys can’t wear skirts.

I try to explain as much to Penny, but it comes out stuttering and stumbling. Penny’s face softens.

“Ok Simon, yes you can borrow one of my skirts.”

Baz is not in our room when Penny sneaks up, skirt tucked in her bag. Thank goodness.

I try it on, and the fabric feels soft against my bare thighs as it swishes to and fro. The waistband is loose on my slim hips though, which may be a problem.

“Penny, it doesn’t really fit…”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Penny rolls her eyes. “You’re like a twig.”

“Well do you have a belt I can use or something?”

Penny scoffs at that. (Maybe it’s a stupid suggestion, but how am I supposed to know?) She points her purple ring at me and says, “ **one size fits all.** ”

The waistband shrinks, hugging my hips snugly. It feels much better like this. I turn a few circles, fingertips brushing the ends of the pleats. It feels great actually. A grin stretches across my face before I can help it.

Tomorrow is going to be a good day.

I purposely wait for Baz to get into the shower in the morning before quickly getting dressed and slipping away to breakfast. As I walk through the corridors, conversations halt then start up again in susurrated whispers after I’ve have passed. I hold my chin up, smile firmly in place.

I sit with Penny and Agatha, as usual. It’s been a bit awkward since Agatha and I broke up a few weeks ago, but I’m glad she’s started to sit with us again. She blinks up at me this morning, taking in the skirt and the smile.

“Simon,” she breathes.

“Morning Ags, Penny.”  
Penny just grunts into her teacup, ignoring the world until the caffeine kicks in.

“You’re wearing a skirt,” Agatha states.

“Yes,” I reply cheerfully. I don’t really want to explain it any more than that. It’s not fair to Baz to be sharing all his secrets like that. He may be my enemy, but he’s also just a boy. He doesn’t deserve that.

Thankfully Agatha drops it, and we all eat in peace.

I don’t see Baz until our shared Magical Words class just before lunch.

He’s already seated by the time I get there. Like most of the day, as I enter the room a hush descends over the occupants.

_Baz_

It’s suddenly quiet in the classroom in a way it never is, even when the teacher arrives. I turn to see why and there, backlit by the sun shining through the open doorway, is Simon.

He’s the same ethereal beauty he usually is, the gilded golden boy. But there’s something about him today. My eyes trace down his body, and my breath hitches when it hits the skirt.

Simon. Is wearing a skirt.

A skirt.

I feel like a stuck record. If I had fed recently, I’m sure my ears would be flaming red. As it is, my mouth hangs open slightly, reminiscent of Simon and his mouth breathing.

Simon saunters over to me, but my eyes are still stuck on the skirt. It looks like regulation school uniform, hideous green polyester tartan, but on him it could be Alexander McQueen for how beautiful it is.

He stops in front of me and I finally tear my gaze from his crotch (awkward) to look him in the face.

“Like it?” Simon asks, eyes twinkling. He does this ridiculous little twirl and stumbles over his own feet. My hand automatically reaches out to steady him, landing on his hip. I lick my lips nervously.

I should say something scathing. Something witty and biting. But all I can think is that he looks so pretty. And worse, I’m jealous. I want to be able to do what he’s doing, wear a skirt and damn the haters.

I’m still holding his hip, my thumb circling lightly on the fabric like it has a mind of its own.

“Yeah,” I croak. “It’s nice.”  
Aleister fucking Crowley. It’s nice? That’s what I came up with.

If there’s a God, please Lord smite me down now.

But Simon’s smile is radiant.

“Thanks!” he says, then flounces away to his seat, skirt bouncing with each step.

I don’t think of anything for the rest of the lesson. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Simon’s bare legs sticking out from under his table. Clearly whoever gave him the skirt never gave him the shoes to match and he’s still in his scruffy loafers, mismatched socks folded at the ankle.

I glance backwards surreptitiously when the teacher’s back is turned and immediately wish I hadn’t. Whoever gave the skirt to him also didn’t teach him how to sit properly in one. He’s lucky the shadows are dark enough that he’s not exposing himself, but Merlin and Morgana… My mouth feels dry.

Once class is over, I quickly catch up to Simon and yank him into an alcove with me.

“Snow,” I spit. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
“What?” he asks, like his mouth is full of rocks. He sounds so stupid. I want to kiss him.

“Sitting like that in class, in a _skirt-“  
_ He cuts me off. “Oh so you can have skirts but I can’t? Is that it?”  
I have no idea where that came from. He knows about my skirts?

“ _I_ can have-? What? No Snow, I’m saying if you want to sit in a skirt you have to keep your knees together. What do you know about my skirts?”  
“Oh! Um I-“ he stutters. “Well, I just saw that you had, uhh, some skirts in your wardrobe and um…”

It seems I’ve caught him red-handed, and now he’s red-faced.

“You were in my wardrobe?” I raise an eyebrow at that. He hates it, I know. That’s why I do it.

“We-well yeah, but that doesn’t matter, what matters is you should get to wear whatever you like, Baz. Skirts, trousers, it’s all fine, yeah?”  
“Wait you’re wearing a skirt to show that it’s ok if I…?” I trail off. If I thought it was hard to wrap my head around Snow in a skirt, but the idea that he’s doing it _for me._

He’s nodding dumbly, so I capture his chin in my hand to halt the movement. We’ve drifted so close during our conversation, warm and isolated in this small space. I could move my head just so and we’d be kissing. It would be so easy…

Then _he_ kisses _me._

He takes that leap, moving his lips against mine. He’s always been the brave one. I’m helpless against the kiss, one hand trapped against his face but the other lands on his hip once more and starts to explore the pleats it finds there. He’s moving his chin _just so_ and I feel weak.

He pulls back just a little, breath puffing over my lips, and smiles.

_Simon_

Baz comes out of the bathroom, shoulders hunched in.

My mind goes blank.

If I thought wearing a skirt felt good, it had nothing on seeing _Baz_ wear one. His legs are long and smooth, strongly muscled and masculine as a beautiful contrast to the soft baby blue tulle of the short skirt that clings to his narrow hips.

He lifts his gaze to mine, insecure and unsure. Whatever he sees there must be good, because he stands up a little straighter. (I have no idea how I look, but I feel like I’ve been hit over the head.) (Is it possible to get drunk just looking at a person?)

“Well?” he asks, neatly pirouetting.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He chuckles, and it’s the most gorgeous sound. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him like that and now I want to hear it every day.

“ **Open sesame!** ”

I roll my eyes at Baz’s dramatics, but I’m still smiling as we enter the dining hall for breakfast, hands intertwined, skirts brushing together.


End file.
